


Courageous Decisions

by Moorish



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Crimson Flower, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorish/pseuds/Moorish
Summary: “I am truly grateful for your courageous decision.”At the end of his chapter with the Leicester Alliance, Claude feels as if everything he's held onto has finally come undone. He has just one thing left to do before he can head home to Almyra. Courageous indeed.A set of missing scenes to fill in the aftermath of Capturing Derdriu. Loosely romantic Claude/Hilda. Crimson Flower spoilers.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril & Claude von Riegan, Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	1. For Naught

“ _I am truly grateful for your courageous decision._ ”

It was slightly comical that within the span of a single hour he had forgotten all he knew and Derdriu felt once again like foreign soil under feet. Claude assumed it was the weight of the day on his shoulders making his footsteps heavy and sloppy. Hilda didn’t retreat. The Alliance was shattered. His men were dead. Nader’s reputation was tarnished. He still had to wrangle Almyra with blood on his hands.

At least Lysithea had left the battlefield alive, having been invited under the Imperial wing. He always liked that sassy kid.

Edelgard and her Strike Force had evacuated the battlefield almost as soon as victory was declared, moving within the walls of the capital - _the_ capital formerly governed by House Riegan - to regroup. Thankfully, there was no noise of clashing swords or guttural screams. Only the occasional whoop whoop of a victory cry broke the silence. As he had anticipated, the Emperor had made good on her word to spare the people. 

Almost all of the people. Classmates. _Hilda_.

The dock area was the worst for his men, his Almyran brethren from across the border who had docked to come to his aid. Those who had not entered on Wyvern were ultimately left behind. He sighed, running a hand backwards through his brown locks. “How are you going to explain this one to the folks back home, Claude?” he murmured to himself, crouching low to the ground. Obviously they had come willingly, but it was still a blemish he would bare.

He had seen people die before at his command, but this was _the_ End with a capital E. It hung heavy around his stomach, and in his own solitude he let a frown grace his lips. He sincerely hoped the guilt rolling off of him in tangible waves would be passed through to the afterlife, whatever they choose for that to be. All for something close to naught. He made a great show rolling over for Edelgard too.

Grunting under his breath, he pushed himself back up to his feet. The Riegan heir felt as if he had developed arthritis in the span of a day, his knees and joints aching with each step. That was the price he paid for getting up close and personal with the fighting - all the aches and pains that came with slashing, hacking, and getting slashed and hacked. Weakly he dusted at his knees, sighing instead as the blood of a mounted archer stained the ornate stitch work. He was ready to unravel but he had to get out of here first.

_I just need to do one thing._

“I see we are not making good on our word,” a cool voice chastised, causing the short hairs at the back of his neck to stand on end. The tones were very familiar, but he had been hoping not to hear it again.

The noble shook his head in a tight range, sucking in a breath and choking down his expression as he leveled his green eyes at the visitor. _Damn it all,_ he cursed briskly at himself. He knew it was too good to be true that he just waltzed up unnoticed. Of course, Hubert had done the same to him, standing some yards off. Even at distance, the former House Leader felt the threatening aura. 

“Hubert, I sincerely hope you are not the karma I was waiting for,” Claude chirped back, raising his hands and letting them fall in a casual gesture. “Sorry, I know I flew off into the sunset and all, but I needed to come back and pay respects. Men still died today under my watch.”

Unmoving and stony faced in all his gothic glory, the Emperor's right hand only lifted his chin, looking down his nose at the yellow clad man. “Her Majesty makes sure to treat all the dead with utmost respect. I have already secured a new count for Derdriu. If it should encourage you to leave faster, I can assure you they will take the time to bury them individually here in the former Alliance territory.”

The Almyran heir squinted the slightest through his thick eyelashes, slowly raising a hand to rest it on his hip. “That would be kind of them, thank you,” Claude rumbled after a long moment, finally breaking the staring match to glance over the battlefield. 

_Where did you fall?_ the tactician asked himself, but in his memory, he could only hone in on her hair. Freikugel had sunk to the earth with a lack luster umph as it rolled from her palm. From where he was perched on his white wyvern, he couldn’t even make out her expression. He had to fill in the blanks for himself. Was her face flushed and pouty, channeling all her fierceness, or had she gone out with a whimper, pulling out old woe is me routines?

“ _It’s been fun, Claude._ ”

Trying to wipe his mind of all intrusive thoughts, he forced himself to focus on his current hurdle. “I still have a few I want to pay respects to,” Claude finally continued, his cape giving a weak flap as a breeze picked up off the water. It didn’t punctuate the bite in his words well. “Just let me have this moment and I’ll be gone. I promise on my honor.”

Hubert hummed, a gloved hand coming forward and pressing gently against his front as if Claude’s words gave him indigestion. The motion was noted, but the Golden Deer was far too exhausted to make fun of Edelgard’s consort yet today. At least his gloves were stained, giving the former Alliance leader some delight to know the mage put up a fight today. No free dinners. 

“I believe I know why you returned, and for that reason, I cannot let you linger in peace,” the golden eyed man informed, his hand still tight to his sternum. “Bold of you to make demands. Is it your new royal title getting to your head? I suppose you think one day you and Her Majesty will be equal players on the global scale, but I assure you that is not the case.”

Claude shut his eyes, inhaling deeply. _Easy now von Riegan_. He knew exactly what Hubert was doing. The Black Eagle was trying to get under his skin just to say he did it. He clapped his palms against his legs, shaking his head. His long tousled locks bounced around, already disheveled from the fight. _He is a spring chicken, just full of testosterone._

“I’ll give you this one Hubert. I know you need to act out when Edelgard isn’t around, but I am trying to have a moment of respect. What do you want?” He swallowed, licking his lips. “If you are waiting for me to have a meltdown, I fear I cannot deliver, but you are doing a good job of getting me angry on the inside. I need to wrap up here and head to Almyra. I don’t plan on returning to Fodlan, so I want to make sure I am leaving properly with no regrets.”

Hubert’s lips twisted into a delighted smile. “That was quite the secret you had. It gave you such a nice advantage, offering the Emperor a favor like that.”

“Is that it? You want a favor too?” Claude tried his hardest to speak in an even meter, his eyebrows slowly knitting together despite his best efforts not to show any attitude. 

“Remember this kindness in the future, _Master Tactician._ Now, would you like me to inform Her Majesty that you were here, or shall you do that yourself?”

The wyvern rider was quiet for a moment, trying to get a read of anything at all off of Hubert other than his grotesque smugness. However, seeing no opening after a long pause, Claude admitted defeat. “What that kindness was, I guess I will have to find out later. It’s a deal. If you won’t Mire me from afar, I would prefer to tell her myself actually.” 

A small nod was given in Claude’s direction, Hubert’s visible eye rolling to keep an unwavering watch on the future King. “So be it. I know you are unarmed. You parked your beast very cleverly there in the cove. It is in your best interest to leave it there before you make your visit. That is all.”

Just as he had appeared, black flame lapped at Hubert’s boots and he teleported away. The visual of engulfing tendrils made Claude stiffen, a million different thoughts flowing through his head. What in the world did Hubert want? There was no way he would raise a hand against Edelgard, but the possibilities made his vision go unfocused. Exasperated, he slapped a hand over his left eye trying to keep his growing headache at bay.

“I am here for a reason… _Hilda!_ ”

One of his answers was right there before him.

Of course, Hubert’s sleek black look had been obscuring the only patch of unnatural bright on the battlefield. Behind where he had disappeared was a shock of lovely pink hair - Hubert obviously considered himself a tactician in his own right. A cold hand gripping his stomach again, Claude had to fight against his tense muscles to continue forward. Immediately he dropped down onto a knee, sighing heavily with the weight of several woes. 

“Oh, _Hilda,_ ” he murmured, his hands simply floating above her. Claude had wanted to move, had wanted to grab her own thin hand and apologize, but everything felt so wrong. “Why do you never listen?” he hissed under his breath, the sharp inhale of breath helping to keep the tears at bay.

In the private of his own bunk, the green eyed boy had cried for all of his fallen classmates. Never once did he let others see, hiding his unhappiness behind plain eyes. His Garreg Mach companion certainly hit the hardest though, and he didn’t see much sense in waiting with the shadow gone. Hubert and the battle of Derdriu had already managed to put his emotions through the ringer. To hell with today.

Moving to sit on both knees, Claude pushed his cape back over his shoulder before gently reaching to grab her by the shoulders. Under his gloves he felt her solid muscle, built up thick from her favored axe. After every battle, she always complained about how grimy and dirty she got. Never mind the blood, but the audacity of the Alliance leader making her break a sweat…

“You tried your hardest today. Thank you for that, beloved friend,” he whispered. Claude had really only known the Goneril spitfire for six years, but her inquisitive - nosy - nature had pried so much out of him. Every time they traded stories of childhood, he felt as if their relationship had aged ten more years. 

On her left slide, Hilda’s face was clean as if it had been wiped with a cloth or a fabric. Claude’s head tilted the slightest, his hair once again cascading across his forehead. Instinctively, he touched his thumb to her jaw, wondering who had visited her first. Caspar, maybe? She always got on with Linhardt too. They were never very good at encouraging each other to finish their homework.

A small noise startled him, causing him to draw her loose body closer to his lap. He lifted his chin high, scoping the empty port as if he was lining up his arrow to hit it’s mark, but in the end he decided it was just a noise of the dead. He remembered the first time he was around a body and it made an awful sound - it was just something the dead _did,_ and no one ever warned you about it.

There was nothing there with them but the continuous wind off of the water that caused the pink whispies of her hair to fly about. 

“Y-you’re wel…”

He dropped her out of shock, immediately lunging forward to roll her towards him again. “Hilda?” he asked frantically, touching that clean spot on her jawline as if it was her lifeline. “Why do you always hit me right in the gut,” Claude rasped, his fingers of his right hand digging into her upper arms. 

The increased pressure caused her to wince, her half lidded eyes giving a soft sparkle in the waning light. The corner of her mouth cracked open before she sighed, leaning into him. Immediately Claude could tell there was not much life left there, but he slid his hand across her front, reaching for her far hand. 

“Hey, Hilda,” the yellow clad boy spoke urgently, giving her another squeeze. “I am here, and I am going to get you out of here, alright?”

Her head lolled back as she relaxed, but he caught the slight bob, the bounce of her earrings most notable. Claude cursed under his breath, drawing her into a tight hug. 

“Damn you Hubert,” he murmured. “Playing me like a fiddle.”

The name caused Hilda to sigh again, and he felt her fingers curl against the front of his jacket. Claude shook his head. “Sorry, let’s not think of him. Just hold on tight.”

While awake, his retainer was still exceptionally pale, and her muscles felt ever limp in his arms. Unfortunately, convoy rations weren’t exactly something he had on him, and in his brain, getting out of there was more important than looting corpses.

“Hubert doesn't deserve a favor if you’re dead, you hear me?” the archer shouted into the wind, hoping the threat got across to the mage, wherever he was. He shook his head so hard his earring threatened to rip out - he had no clue if Hubert had simply used a potion or a spell, but he hoped whatever it was was potent enough to take her out of Imperial Territory. He had no doubt he would be marked a fugitive until the war drew to a close. 

The Goneril girl was made of muscle, but she was also petite, and Claude got his feet under himself with only minor difficulty as he came to stand. One arm firmly pulled her face to his chest and his other supported her legs, almost cradling her to his body. Regrouping, he shut his eyes for a long moment. His thoughts were still ricocheting around his brain like a whirlwind, and he needed to sort them out fast.

Under his breath, the future heir was word vomiting everything he was running through. He needed to leave with Hilda to find a medic, but he also needed to share a word with Edelgard. _I can’t risk Almyra’s position only because of my friends_ , he chastised himself. _But I could also die at the hands of House Goneril ala General Holst._

Against his chest she sighed, long lashes fluttering. Her pink eyes looked about, Claude’s face going in and out of focus against the contrast of the blue sky as she tried to will herself to stay in existence. Everything about her felt wrong, but she didn’t know how to communicate that beyond nuzzling his plush jacket. She would ultimately forgive him later for the hand half up her skirt, his palm flat against the back of her thigh as he tried desperately to stop her from folding in half and flopping out of his arms.

Despite having Derdriu committed to memory, every little square mapped in tactical sequences, the distance felt dreadfully long. Every bump in the dock planks felt like stab wounds straight into his temple, and he cursed under his breath as he stubbed his toe on solid land. This was the most he had come undone in a long, long time. 

The green eyed boy knew his wyvern well, it’s teeth chattering as he hooked around the corner just off of the pier and into the dark where she sat. Thankfully, it seemed as if Hubert had left her unscathed, and somewhat surprisingly, his bow still sat nestled in it’s sling at her rear. It made the tension in his body ease slightly knowing his escape route was still in place.

Gently, Claude lowered Hilda to the ground, propping her up against the damp stone face. In a swifter motion, he drew her hands together, squeezing hard through their gloves. “Hey. You still need to meet my parents, you hear? You’re in luck, I was heading to visit them today too,” he urged her, moving to sweep his hair back as he released. “Please. I just need to make niceties with Edelgard and Teach, and we will be out of here.”

As he moved to step back, his wyvern lunged for him, stretching out her wings.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he urged in a soft voice, grabbing her muzzle. “I will be back. Stay right here and _don’t_ step on her.” 

  
With one long glance, he took in the scene. Hilda, breathing, somehow alive in the darkness as he crawled around Derdriu. The city he lost, but ultimately _found_ again. Shaking his head once more, he combed his fingers back through his hair, and tugged on his lapels. He needed to show face to Edelgard, say goodbye to Teach, and get out of dodge.


	2. All At Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Lend us your strength."
> 
> Even with his options limited, Claude cannot silence the thoughts in his head. Forced to constantly keep in motion, he he tries his best to wrangle the situation at hand day by day.

“ _Lend us your strength_.”

The green eyed schemer wasn’t quite sure how he managed to do it. Mustering all of his composure, sucking in cheeks, and walking with a swagger in his step, he had waltzed into the heart of Derdriu only some hours after having it pried from his grasp.

Claude had thought he would be happy to see the Professor, to maybe shake hands, clap a shoulder and say goodbye, but his fists remained limp at his side as the scenes of the day played through his head. 

Byleth had stood there as one of his former students was pummeled to death by a hail of magic. Granted, the Crest of Flames was dedicated to the Black Eagles, but it soured their reunion. For once, his eyes did not smile for his favorite Teach. 

While Edelgard’s cool nature was not unexpected, her equally indifferent nature caused him to bite his tongue between words. For all they knew, his retainer was dead with everyone else. Judith. Ignatz. Not a single apology as they exchanged final pleasantries.

That was said and done now, but the scene kept replaying as he rode on the back of his favored wyvern. The cold air was making his eyes water as he squinted against the harsh sunset, flying higher than he would typically urge the beast. Originally he had intended to set out for Almyra and take the multi-day ride in one long stride, but now things were different.

Bathed in the pale oranges and harsh reds was Hilda snuggled against his chest. This time it was for her own safety as she was wedged side saddle between himself and the front of the beast. Claude’s shoulders were screaming for respite as he held onto her tightly as possible with one arm, clenching the reins until his knuckles popped with the other. He was afraid that if he even relaxed his mounted stance she would slip right on through and tumble to the earth. He didn’t have much experience riding double on a wyvern, so he was taking every precaution he could afford. His body allowed him this for now, but later he would surely have sores, bumps, and bruises where the creature’s hard back rubbed against him with each stroke of the wings.

Below them, Fodlan’s landscape was melting into the same palette of browns and yellows, but the tactician was confident they were approaching where he wanted to be. When they took flight, Claude had kept tight to the waterfront, chasing the waves until it parted as a river. The river was far from massive, but he knew what lay at the end, and soon he would need to take them to ground. Through his jacket he felt every labored breath the pink eyed girl took and it was starting to worry him to push his luck. 

If he wasn’t technically a fugitive now, he would have landed ages ago and commanded the nearest village he stumbled upon to fall in line. Now he was afraid of how fast word travelled and where the Empire might already lay in wait. Surely they would understand it took more than a few hours to exit Fodlan? The former House Leader had thought he had everything all figured out, but then Hubert spooked him like the fawn he was.

“Damn him,” Claude cursed under his breath for good measure, lifting his chin so that his tousled hair kept away from his face. 

Leaning back in his saddle, he arched into a peculiar shape to press his collar bone to the crown of Hilda’s pink head, blocking her body from slipping. Her locks dancing around in the wind caused him to squint, tension flowing from toes to finger tip. They were close now, and with a new sense of determination, he eased them towards the ground in the waning sunlight. 

* * *

In the dark he sat, green eyes cracked open despite the exhaustion that caused his limbs to numb. It was also quite possibly the dusty wooden floor he was perched upon too, a single leg outstretched as he leaned against the bed frame in the low moon light. His boots were still upon his feet, but he had gotten as far as pulling the laces loose before his brain demanded all of his attention again. His jacket was soaking in the powder room in a futile attempt to remove bodily fluids before they set. 

To an outsider, his vigil would come off as romantic, but at this exact moment he was simply _lost_. Claude had brought them to the domain of House Edmund with a bright hope in his chest and a small, meaningless prayer, under his breath, but just as he had discovered some years ago, the Margrave’s second estate was empty. 

Among the chaos in his head, the Almyran heir had figured out the easiest way to barter with the servant who watched the manor. While the Golden Deer did not carry convoy rations on his being, he did keep change and wrapped chocolates, and that was enough to buy him both silence and a meager potion. The servant, who he charmed a name out of with a wink and a soft touch, introduced herself as Leste. Claude was certain she had connected the dots and recognized him as the famed - former - leader of the Leicester Alliance, but the words they exchanged had an unspoken understanding. The Empire would not raid the land unless given a reason to.

Feeding the potion to Hilda had been another chore entirely, but now she was nestled in the comforters without a speck upon her face. In the moonlight it was a halo of silver sheets around her, almost as if the Goddess herself watched. It was simply a waiting game as he wished upon the stars for the axe toting warrior to come back around. Elsewhere in the home he had found a stack of towels that had been stowed many years ago; they served to pack the girl’s most visible wound at her left side, held in place with a tight sash. 

Spear? Sword? Claude felt a pang of guilt that he did not even know who took shots at his beloved friend. Regrettably, he had let it bleed for most of their flight, and it had stained through the majority of her clothes. The blood loss certainly was helping her sleep.

With a heavy sigh he unfurled his clenched fists, Hilda’s oval earrings embedded firmly into his bare palm. In his efforts to make her comfortable, he had only gotten as far as removing her boots and jewelry before trailing off. While he would admit in private thoughts they had quite a flirtatious past, her lack of protest and teasing quips made everything feel wrong despite his every intention to make sure she was comfortable. 

Moving to his knees, Claude rest his elbows upon the plush bed. It creaked under his weight, not used to having occupants in the house. Hilda’s hand rolled towards him and gently, he moved it back against her hip. 

“I’m not one for begging,” the tactician murmured, pressing his fingers below his ears. Slowly he drew his fingers down his jawline, running his fingers over the stubble that resided there. He stopped with a thumb upon his lips, pausing with his brows drawn. “But life would be a lot easier if you could just tell me you are in there.”

Green eyes wandering, Hilda’s features were rough to make out in the dark, the stark moonlight washing her out. Soft button nose, the pout of her lips... the brown haired man needed to figure out what to do. Always, always figuring out what to do. The gears never stopped turning.

Naturally, the easiest way to return to Almyra would be through the Locket. However, Claude had no doubts that General Holst was already under the Empire’s thumb. He was a force of his own, and surely now knowing his personal secret, Edelgard would pay close attention to the border.

“Would your brother kill me, or thank me?” he asked the empty air, motioning an empty palm towards the ceiling. It was a good question. Holst would surely hear within the next few days of House Goneril’s apparent loss. There was no way Hubert would share the secret, as Hilda’s pending mortality would drive him to abandon post in search of her. 

The boy hummed, pressing his thumb to the underside of his nose. Holst surely understood war. His spunky, pink haired sister was better off presumed dead in this narrative, at least until the Empire secured the Holy Kingdom.

Clenching his jaw, he let his arms collapse under him in defeat, his face making a gentle impact with the bed. Claude had been cornered into keeping Hilda a secret, even without the ominous promise of favors hanging above his head. 

This is how he would sleep with the silver moonlight enveloping him too.

* * *

Claude awoke with a jolt, immediately tripping over his feet in his loose boots. A single hand went to his ankle as he spun, landing loudly on the wooden floor with his back pressed tight against the bed. He usually wasn’t one to sleep with weapons at hand, but he flexed instinctively, grinding his teeth as his bow was nowhere in reach.

“Good morning,” the servant offered softly, her grey wispy hairs floating around her face like a villager’s bonnet. Sensing the tension in the room, she stood with her hands folded tightly above her navel, smile small. 

Sucking in air through his nose, the archer lifted his chin, nodding acutely. “Good morning, Leste,” he greeted, forcing warmth into his words as he fell into his usual smooth talking. Moving a hand to his knee, he arched a brow in question. “Has something changed about our arrangement?”

The woman immediately shook her head, turning to reach for something outside the doorway. “House Edmund is quite bare this morning. They sent most able men out as soon as the first word came to help the Emperor. He is eager to make a good impression… he is delightful to listen to you know,” the old woman murmured about the orator as she moved about. 

He watched her moves with a certain level of scrutiny, looking back over his shoulder briefly only to confirm Hilda was in fact still there. Her eyelids were yet shut, but he could tell she was dreaming in the darkness by the small twitches of her face here and there. Leste immediately drew his attention back, having placed a shallow basket before him. 

“I am to take care of both estates now… so I will be leaving. These are the last of my things I had here. I hope they are useful to you.” 

Leste was a beautiful woman even in her growing age, and behind her own tired blue eyes, Claude saw the kindness. He always thought himself good at reading people. Slowly coming to his feet, the schemer felt briefly light headed, realizing a bit somberly both him and Hilda had not eaten for over 24 hours now. 

“More than I could ever ask for,” the green eyed boy thanked her with a small, genuine smile. He reached to touch her elbow, nodding once. “I wish I could offer you more in return, but I am not in a good position of power anymore.” 

She chuckled softly, dropping her doe eyes to the ground. “Many, many moons ago I worked under the Duke Riegan. I remember the day we received word Tiana was gone. I shifted to work for House Edmund shortly thereafter.”

The mention of his mother made his lips quiver the slightest. So few ever knew it, even within the Alliance. “I will be sure to pass along the hello,” he assured.

Leste smiled, head still bowed as she brushed off the front of her apron. “Your dirty clothes are on the line in the kitchen. I didn’t want anyone to see your banner outside.”

In small, fluid steps, she exited the room just as she came without his dismissal. He watched her go down the hall until she was obscured, his gaze sliding over to the open powder room door next. As she explained, his jacket was no longer hung from the bath and he exhaled through his teeth. _Your ears are really slipping, Claude_. 

Turning on his heels, he looked back upon Hilda. Even from here he could tell her breathing had evened out, and the towels he had used to stop her wound didn’t look any worse than he remembered. Maybe things were finally on the up. 

True to her word, motion outside the window caught his attention as Leste set out on a horse from the estate’s stable. The exiled noble watched until the figure faded out into the hazy darkness, the sun still not quite up over the horizon. 

Feeling oddly at ease, the wyvern rider leaned back against the window frame, moving to kick off his boots as he shifted his weight. Claude would bathe himself first before he worried about steps one, two, and so forth, blood and grime from Derdriu still blemishing his typically flawless complexion. 

* * *

At best his bath was lukewarm, the stove crackling through the few pieces of firewood it had been stoked with. The Almyran heir didn’t want to be greedy lest he need warm water later. He let his head roll back, resting his ear against the cold stone lip of the basin. From here he could see Hilda’s stark pink locks in the morning sun. 

As he had undressed earlier, she had moved to roll onto her side halfheartedly in her dreams, her legs still twisted as if a lazy cat. His retainer hadn’t otherwise stirred, but it gave him hope she would be sooner rather than later as the light irritated her. Always the queen of sleeping in.

Running his palms over his thighs under the surface, Claude was still stuck in a rut of _thinking._ Despite the Alliance being out of his hands, he was feeling more trapped than ever, and the fact continued to pummel him over and over. He closed his eyes, raising a wet hand to trace the shape of his ear, and then into his hair. 

Somewhere between Leste leaving and drawing his bath, he had decided taking Hilda to Almyra was the best option for success. What delight he would have telling her she was a fugitive too, and their first task would be slipping through Fodlan’s Locket without drawing attention to a stark white wyvern. There was no ifs, ands, or buts. If either of them showed face, the conflict within the Alliance would only rage on. No more needless deaths. 

In the best outcome, the Golden Deer figured Edelgard would have the continent secured in less than a year. While Claude did not have great intel on those in Faerghus, the Emperor had quite the steam train going for her. Lorenz, the constant thorn in his side for the past five years, was most likely already making quick work turning the lords that had previously sparred against the Empire. Clearly House Edmund’s allegiances had been weak to the Church, and he was sure the rest would fall in line if it meant coming out the other side of the war. 

Opening his eyes again, Claude was met with the bright attention of his housemate, Hilda’s curious pink gaze locking quickly with his. A smile crossed his lips instantly, his body still comfortably sprawled beneath the water.

“Finally joining the world of the living?” he called out, raising a hand to wave curtly at her with two fingers. 

Hilda’s sigh was audible, and the girl rolled her eyes as she transitioned to lay on her back once more. “I… feel like I got hit with a brick and a load of chores,” she croaked, a hand moving to touch the sash across her middle that held her wound tight. Her body felt sluggish, her toes barely curling as she commanded them.

Sitting up now, he hooked an arm over the edge of the tub, simply shrugging in response. “I am not sure if the truth is worse, but you sure took a long nap either way.”

Standing, the archer had no shame before his trickster in arms, the same sly expression on his face that he usually had when they conversed. Hearing Hilda’s voice made his heart happy. Giving her a moment to collect herself, Claude slowly dried limb by limb, finally now taking inventory of his own cuts and bruises. The inside of his legs were horribly red, and he was blistered some towards his ankles. Hopefully from afar the warrior liked the view because up close, the handsome man was looking quite grotesque. 

His pants hung loosely without his usual belt, his smock top just as limp as he only tucked one side. With soft steps, he babied the tender spots on the soles of his feet before sitting on the edge of the bed. Immediately he tucked one foot under him, propping his chin up on an open palm as he leaned over Hilda. His elbow nestled comfortably at her right side and immediately her fingers curled in the loose fabric of his sleeve.

Claude was ready to tease when the Goneril’s soft sobs startled him, taking him out of his jovial mood. 

“Hilda,” he murmured, moving to sit up. “What’s wrong?” the tactician asked, brows pressing closely together. He was so used to her always crying for attention, but these were different. Genuine, like she often did in the privacy of her own room - not that he ever advertised he knew that.

“What the _fuck,_ ” she swore loudly, voice raspy and fried as if she had been screaming in all of her dreams. “D-did Hubert _save me_?”

He dropped his head, only able to give it a small shake as he held his poise. The axe bearer continued to sob for a long while, her free hand flopping about between them as she went between smacking her chest and the mattress. Claude could feel his own heart beat pulsing as he waited for her to calm, finally reaching out to stop her as she thumped him in the shoulder.

“Hey,” the green eyed man reached out, his wet hair a messy halo around his face. “Don’t damage the goods. You’re safe now.”

With a loud sniffle she drew away from him, bringing her hands to run through her tangled locks instead. Almost as quickly her fingers scrambled for her neck, clawing against the fabric that constrained her. Claude grunted, motioning with a flick of his fingers for her to stop.

“Hilda, you went through a lot. Just relax for a moment, okay?” he encouraged again in his firm leader voice, gently working the clasp of her halter top with his thumbs. Carefully he pulled the garment back, revealing the full extent of the purple marbling across her chest from where magic had rained upon her repeatedly. He let the shirt rest around her breasts, his hands trailing off to touch her side instead.

The tactician could tell she was processing by the way her breaths were deep but steady. Her gaze was unfocused and pointed out the window, squinting endlessly at the cheery blue morning sky. Quietly Claude worked, unpacking her wound with gentle hands while she was otherwise distracted. It had stopped bleeding during the night but it still looked rather unpleasant, and he would need to get it cleaned out yet today. 

Moving to lean onto his elbow again, his weight rested across her hips. She sighed at this, her lashes fluttering. 

“The birds sing for the Emperor’s victory. The Alliance is no more,” he rumbled, moving to stare out in the window in the same fashion as her. “As horrifying as it may be, apparently Hubert saw a reason for you to live. I would write him a thank you letter. He must have done a lot to keep you going because you were toast when I left.”

As a crow cut across the clouds, the archer’s eyes rose to the ceiling. In their positions, Hilda’s hand was close to his, and he tapped her gently with one finger to call upon her full attention. “Why didn’t you retreat?” Claude asked bluntly, his green eyes still fixed on the cracking plaster above them.

The scene replayed in his head. His second in command. Flat on the ground in a cloud of dust as their former classmates looked in with detached concern. Claude had been trapped at the rear, forced to be their final line of defense. The prize they were all fighting for.

A soft groan escaped her as she lightly slapped his hand away, not keen on his pestering. He felt her gaze shooting daggers into his skull, and with a roll of his shoulders, he turned to face her. 

“... I was right where I wanted to be,” she admitted in a far quieter voice than he anticipated. Her soft sounds made him shatter, the thin line of his lips turning into a frown. Hilda hated that face as she always thought of him as a ray of troubled sunshine, but for a moment between them, they were genuine in their emotions.

Swallowing audibly, the future king shifted, moving to sit beside her now with a knee hooked up on the bed. With tender hands he pushed her frame of pink back from her face before drawing her into a hug, enveloping her upper half with his. “You never cease to amaze me,” he whispered in a tone that oozed relief. In a moment of boldness, he pressed a chaste kiss to her temple, touching his fingers to her opposite cheek.

Hilda smiled through tears, moving to wipe them away with the back of her palms as he retreated. They had only known each other for six years, but the archer held a soft spot in her heart. She welcomed his kind touches, drinking in the comfort that he offered. The war hardened maiden knew she was a hot mess with cuts and bruises and a snotty nose, but he was still happy to see her. Seriously. A fairy-tale to end them all.

“Seriously. Why _Hubert_?” she asked again, half sob laughing as they shared the moment. 

Claude only echoed her laugh, letting his leg down to sit properly. “Don’t get your heart a flutter. He was out for a bargain. Apparently he thinks I have something left to give.”

She made a soft chirping sound, her laughter trailing off into a weak wet cough. There was a beat of silence between them as the Goneril studied the back of his head, debating if he was worth beating now or later. “W-well, you do, don’t you?” she prompted, digging her thin fingers into the space below his rib cage.

He caught her hand with a soft gasp, giving it a gentle squeeze in his calloused palms as he looked over his shoulder. “Is that so?” he asked, playing dumb as she put him in the sudden spotlight.

Hilda only chirped again, wiggling her fingers against his rough hand. She always forgot how strong he really was, and much like her, all of his strength was in his arms as he worked the bowstring. She freed herself, instead splaying her open palm on her chest, pulling up the edge of her top as if modesty mattered between them. “You are leaving to see your _Dad_ in Almyra,” the spitfire pointed out, her eyes wide with an unspoken seriousness.

Claude tried to remain a statue, but in the comfort of their privacy he let out a small curse under his breath, throwing his hands up a bit dramatically. “I’ve been called out. I thought you stopped studying politics after we left Garreg Mach, Hildie.” 

She snorted, wincing as she moved to roll over on her good side, facing away from him. “Holst has taught me a lot. Your secrets aren’t all that clever,” the girl grumbled, pushing her long mess of hair back over her shoulder. “You brought them for _the_ fight. I am not that dumb.”

Sighing a little, he reached to pull the blankets higher around her from where they crumpled about her knees. “I never said you were dumb,” he pointed out in a semi jovial tone, “and I applaud your ability to sleuth out my best kept mystery. You deserve it for all this time we’ve spent together, old friend.”

While he knew she was pulling out all the cards to be a brat, as she usually did, the Almyran heir did feel a pang of guilt. It was true. He didn’t tell anyone going into the showdown at Derdriu beyond his brethren that already knew. It was his trump card he had needed to save for Edelgard, but Claude knew he had downplayed Hilda’s intelligence by not giving it to her straight moons ago.

Gently now he touched her elbow. “I would goad you into forgiving me by pointing out I carried you all the way here, stopped your wounds, and fed you a potion without you asphyxiating, but I will take the high road today.”

The axe wielder scoffed again, her arm flapping under his hand. She twisted her shoulders to look towards him, her pink eyebrows arched in question. “Where are we?” she asked plainly to change the subject, her eyes moving to wander about the room. There was no reason to be stubborn; while she had not been coherent to watch the final moments at Derdriu, she knew it was probably his bargaining chip with the Empire.

For some reason, this question hit him harder than her pointed accusations. He moved to stand, his bare feet silent as he crossed the floor. Quietly he procured the basket Leste had left, holding against his hip as he sorted through the contents. “This is the second estate of House Edmund,” Claude rumbled matter of fact, holding up a small jar of jam up to the light between two fingers. 

Hilda’s nose scrunched, confusion washing over her face. Why was that name so familiar? Obviously they were within the Alliance but the significance was lost on her in the moment.

“This… is Marianne’s home,” she whispered as it all came back to her, sinking back into the pillows. 

Rolling over, she took in the rest of the room. The floral decorations and the faint feminine touches. Overly plush pillows and horses just over yonder. Her eyes closed as she sighed. For a moment her expression was tight, but then it relaxed.

“She never came back here,” Claude murmured to break the silence, setting the jam back to scratch his head. Now he had gone and made things awkward, but there was no reason for even more secrets. His cards were on the table, and even though his hair was still damp and a horrible mess akin to bed head, it was at least clean. “I stopped by personally after we left Garreg Mach. The Alliance needed a strong healer to run the medics.”

The pale girl nodded some, a shadow casting over her as lazy clouds drifted by. She didn’t open her eyes and he could only watch from afar as she clawed at her own chest, pawing like a lost kitten as she poked and prodded her bruises.

“I… tried writing to her, but I never got a response,” Hilda whispered. Using her knuckle, she brushed away another tear, but her composure was quicker to recover this time. “I wish we wouldn’t have gone separate ways after the fight at school, you know?”

With long strides he returned to her, sitting again beside her hip. “... for now, we need our chins and strength up. As soon as you can sit in the saddle with me, we have to leave Fodlan. There isn’t a lot we can do. I don’t need Holst fighting the Empire just to get you back.”

Uncharacteristically, Hilda was quiet again for a long moment, her sniffles the only thing filling the space. She sucked in a loud breath, her knee drawing up to touch the small of Claude’s back. “If Holst thinks I am dead, he is going to roll over,” she murmured, her friend confirming her calculations with a small nod.

“Obviously, we will tell him eventually, but for right now he needs to follow the motions to end this laborious war. He is safer in his dukedom than he is out exploring. Hubert is wasting no time replacing rebellious Lords.”

His words made some sense, and Hilda simply agreed with a somber nod. Claude always knew a million things. She had first hand experience with how his mind worked, constantly juggling hundreds of loosely connected threads. Her fingers explored her own body, coming to a stop as she touched the hard scabbed edges of her wound. She hissed between clenched teeth, her face scrunching again.

The tactician’s movements were fluid, resting his hand on hers. “Let us see if you can stand, and then I’ll draw you a fresh bath. You can feast on delightful preserved fruits while I dote on you,” he teased, a song to his voice as he cycled rapidly through emotions.

She snorted, cracking a single eye open. “You mean jam?” she challenged, looking to the wicker basket he had been playing with moments before.

“Jam. Delicacies.” His hand floated from side to side, punctuating each word. “It is not very often the future King offers to spoon feed you, princess.”


	3. Fair Maiden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let's agree to go visit my home together.”
> 
> Hilda had been fed years of wonderful stories of Almyra. Her introduction leaves a lot to be desired, especially when familiar walls slide back into place.

“ _Let's agree to go visit my home together._ ”

As it turned out, Hilda rode double in the saddle remarkably well.

He didn’t miss the soft sigh that escaped her as they skirted around Fodlan’s Locket, crossing between the lowest peaks that made up the border. Unceremoniously, their travel was met with no fuss beyond growing riding sores. 

Hilda, tender, blamed her tears upon the angry red flesh that streaked the inside of her calves. Claude let her be, knowing that bypassing her home was nothing to take lightly. She would not return to Fodlan until the Imperial war had ceased, and even at the finale, it was unclear where House Goneril would stand. 

They had spent a total of two afternoons in Edmund's empty estate, taking the time to recuperate and lick their wounds in relative peace. Concerning, the first day his pink haired companion had felt repeatedly light headed, but after filling her with an adequate amount of foods and fluids, she swore up and down she was ready to move on. Her wounds and bruises still haunted his dreams, but with no healing magic in either repertoire, she would wait. 

Wasting time with idle chatter in the home, the tactician took the time to tease her with all he could of Almyra. He hoped she would enjoy it. They talked so much in a short span of time that even he felt hoarse now despite the fact they hadn't exchanged words in hours. Between the time for stories he was left with time to _sleep_ , and for the first time in several years, Claude had treated himself to a nap. How his world had changed despite the conflict raging on outside having not.

He understood now, tepid, how some could live blissfully in ignorance. 

Now, Hilda sat with her cheek firmly against his shoulder blade, her hair pinned up in a pair of messy braids. He felt the tickle of her lashes on his nape every now and again, smiling each time she adjusted in the saddle to squish closer to him. Arms firmly around his middle, she had hooked her wrists under the sash he wore, a little extra precaution that she wouldn’t be lost as they dipped and careened. 

They were flying well into the night now, the fresh Pegasus Moon guiding towards the country’s capital. Under the stars, a thought crossed the green eyed man’s mind. He turned in his seat, raising an arm to nudge gently backwards with an elbow. 

“Hmm?” she asked alarmed in a shout-yell, yawning as she touched her chin to his bicep. “Can I help you?” Sleep clouded her eyes but she had no time for that right now, instead falling in and out of consciousness between every few strokes of the wyvern’s wings. 

He squinted at the sky for a moment, gesturing loosely towards the expansive black before them with reins in his hands. “What time would you say it is?”

Hilda scoffed, her fingers digging in somewhere around his navel as she wiggled back and forth in a futile attempt to get comfortable again. Even the howling wind in her ears couldn't obscure his rather pointless question. “Time to sleep, that’s what time it is weirdo.”

Claude laughed, the sound bright despite the exhaustion that had set in for him too. “No. Happy Birthday, sunshine.”

The Goneril girl blinked, her eyes drawn in a dreamy squint. A small smile crossed her chapped lips as she groaned, pressing her face against his jacket. “Thanks,” she murmured. “Glad I could be here on a stinky dragon.”

He could only chuckle again, his wild brown locks bouncing around as he shook his head. Claude let her be with her hands firmly knotted below his rib cage. They would be arriving in the city soon under the cover of darkness and he hoped that come sunrise things would remain just as jovial. At this point in their journey his beloved wyvern knew the way home, and he let his thoughts wander to this and that instead.

_Time to face the music. There is no getting out of that._

\---

“Our favorite kiddo is back, a-ha- _hah_!”

Claude scoffed as they landed, a hand going to Hilda’s thigh to pin her to the seat as the dragon arched back. Her legs nestled around his hips tightened, weary exhales in tandem as they finally touched Almyran soil.

“You’re quite cheeky for someone who was about to shoot me out of the sky no less than five minutes ago,” the future king pointed out blandly, a hand clapping against the long neck of his wyvern. He gave it a few tired strokes with his thumb, the creature swaying from side to side under the praise.

True to his point, his pink haired friend had Failnaught in her palms, at the ready should it have been needed. Her own expression was sour under her blunt bangs, her stomach having risen somewhere around her throat in the escalating situation. The last place she fancied dying was in the sky where the only outcome was a solid _splat_.

Nader could only laugh, a faint torch light behind him the only illumination on the open dirt. “We thought maybe you were a goner, cut us some slack. You’re all talk, no bite.”

Admitting, Claude wasn’t all that amused, but exhausted from their extended ride, he chose to let it go. With an outstretched hand he took his favored bow, giving it a quick look over before unceremoniously tossing it to the ground to free his hands.

Hilda was quiet as he dismounted, a small glint in her eye as he offered her a gloved hand in an act of chivalry. Equally as tired, she took it without protest. The moment her toes hit the ground, her ankle rolled to the right, and the schemer caught her by the elbow before she could dip all the way to the ground.

“Hey, you’re still shell shocked,” Claude murmured under his breath, concern washing away his previous annoyances with the Almyran militant. 

Her nose scrunched as she tucked a loose lock behind her ear, sighing. “Just really ready for a nap,” she assured in nothing more than a whisper, pushing down the front of her skirt in two short motions. The axe warrior was standing as if she had spent several hours on horseback, which in all fairness, was an equal comparison. The ride was far worse on her than him.

“You brought back pinky,” Nader continued, the grizzled man moving to grab the wyvern before him. He shook it’s snout harshly in a manner that could be construed as affectionate. He turned it towards Hilda, locking gaze with her above the creature’s glistening white scales. “You have quite the wound. Really gumming up our infirmary, aren’t you boy?”

Snapping his fingers, the green eyed archer drew attention sharply from both his Almyran retainer and the city patrol that had gathered to see the commotion. _The talented son was back from his defeat in the West!_

Claude felt a familiar pink gaze upon him, but his touch held firm on her bare elbow.

“Watch your words Nader. Hilda is from _the_ House Goneril, and she has every permission to kick you into shape. General Holst would be very happy to hear it,” the Golden Deer ground out, moving to plant a hand on his hip. “Show some respect.”

A small, knowing smile crossed the girl’s lips as she ducked her head. The general looked as if slapped, apparently not anticipating much kick back. Hilda assumed he didn’t often get the bossy end in casual conversation. Shirking away from Claude’s grasp, she let a palm rest against her abdomen. The wound was still very tender, but they had done a good job of keeping it clean. Her ruined corset did not do it any favors though, stained and singed despite going through a rough hand wash. Remaining quiet, she relished in the moment. It wasn’t very often someone else defended her honor. 

“Jamil, would you please take her to a medic?” Claude requested abruptly, turning to target his gaze on a younger boy among the crowd.

The child nodded, coming forward in sluggish steps to reach out to with a small hand. In his other fist was a comically tiny dagger and Hilda arched a brow. 

“Claude,” she protested. While she had charmed him with all of his stories, and his promise of a warm nation despite the winter month at play, this wasn’t exactly how she had intended to be greeted. The pink haired girl had arrived with the freaking _King’s son_ , but yet she felt captive to a tension she did not quite understand. 

The schemer held still for a moment, the only movement the flick of his dull green eyes. In an instant, he had managed to wipe all expression from his face, falling back under the usual cloak he wore. 

_Sitting on his secrets again_ , she thought bleakly.

“It’s alright. Jamil knows the palace very well. You can take her back to my chamber when she’s done, yeah?” Softening in his actions only, Claude patted the top of the child’s head. “I am sure I will be spending most of the night with my dear old family. I will find somewhere else to hole up, if I get the chance.”

Hidla’s mouth pressed into a tight line, watching Nader from her peripheral as he took a step forward. While they fought side by side at Derdriu, she suddenly wasn’t feeling very kind towards him.

“Speaking of the Locket. You get to come with me, big for your breeches over there. We are talking strategy before you go making apologies,” the general grunted, gesturing toward the former House Leader with short, curt movements of his square fingers.

Raising his hands towards the sky, Claude gave a surrender and rolled his shoulders. “I expected no less. We have wounds to lick.”

Doing a small quarter turn, he ran a gloved palm though his hair, exhaling as he turned back to his beloved classmate. “We will meet up whenever politics get set aside. I’ll give you a proper introduction and tour then.” 

She was so ready to protest when his sly little wink cut her off. Hilda’s cheeks dimpled as she smiled on reflex, immediately hiding it over her shoulder. He always caught her like that. She always relied on reading his face to get a good pulse on him and he knew it. 

“Damn him,” she swore under her breath, two fingers instantly coming to cover her mouth as she locked eyes with the young Jamil. “Don’t repeat after me,” she mumbled hurriedly, extending her other hand to him. 

By now, the yellow draped man was already off in the distance, his back to her as he walked his wyvern back to the stables. Hilda blew out a breath between her lips, reluctantly letting her exhausted body be pulled towards the heart of the capital. 

\---

Four days. 

That was how long she had been confined to the inside of Claude’s room, though her solitude was a mixture of stubbornness and uncertainty. 

The first night, a small army of gentle medics had tended to her, stripping her naked before healing her with warm hands. The bruising across her chest had vanished, and the wound at her hip bone was merely now a small stitch of a scar. Kindly, and simply a byproduct of how magic worked, they healed all of her flying sores too.

They didn’t converse with her much other than to coo soft praises. Their words were slightly demeaning only in the sense Hilda could carry a grown man and toss an axe like a sportsman - of course she toughed it out through a few pesky wounds.

_Well. I did almost die._

She had been put to bed wrapped in the softest silk she had ever touched. The pink haired warrior was too tired to protest, falling asleep almost as soon as she hit the pillows. The bed was magnificent and plush. It wasn’t a cot or a bunk. It was a real life bed, where people actually stayed and slept.

By morning, a large woven basket of fabrics had been left right inside the door. In her confusion and eagerness to explore, she had peeked out of the bedroom in search of answers only to be met with surprised and frantic eyes. Those who lined the courtyard scattered, or offered her a turned back.

Either she was meant to be captive, or nobody knew who Claude had tucked away in his personal bed chambers.

Seemingly at random, more clothes and even jewelry began to appear at uneven hours. The maids never said much beyond good morning and please enjoy. A few times she had caught glimpse of a middle aged woman with brilliant green eyes and thick brown hair down the hall; she looked different from the rest of the crew, and from what she knew, Hilda could only assume she was from the outside too.

Always one for fashion, she had taken the time to try the outfits on. She experimented with the jewelry in the small powder room mirror, and flaunted the jingle of the copper bangles as she danced around to no song in particular. That had amused her for the better part of a day, but with growing discontent, she wasn’t sure what to make of the gifts. Having lost sleep over their meaning, she had tossed them back to the bin, choosing only to keep one treasure for herself.

Now resigned to the fact she wasn’t allowed to leave, she was nested in a ring of pillows, lounging in her undergarments and a large, plain tunic she found hung in the connected dressing room. While it smelled faintly like stale laundry, the cotton texture was a different weave than what she was used to. It was familiar in the way that she knew Claude wore it, and in hopes she could find a way to take her anger out on it, she wore it like a scorned ex-lover. Loose and unkempt.

In short, that summed the majority of the events between then and now. 

The only exception was how she was choosing to pass the remaining time, isolated in the sunbathed room. At first, she hadn’t known what to expect when invited into the House Leader’s private space. It was clean and tidy, albeit a little dusty, and the longest wall was lined with bookshelves and small, purely decorative knick knacks. Book after book, some were considerably earmarked judging on the papers, strings, and tabs that hung out the ends. 

It was the only sign of life that someone had lived here more than just a prisoner. 

She had a number of them cracked open around her, a small pile accumulating at the foot of the bed. Hilda had skimmed a fair amount of them by now, thumbing the pages for anything of interest before kicking them away. Roughly half of them had been written in the common tongue, and the other half were lost on her. She wasn’t sure if it was a modern language or an archaic one, but they all looked equally as worn. _Teenage me should have paid more attention in school._

Among the printed texts were a few handwritten ones as well; some had smudged calligraphy and others had small, tiny and deliberate letters. Those so far had proven the most interesting, but none had authors penned to be attributed to. They reminded her of the tomes kept in the Abyss, the ones that Linhardt dragged up every now and again and paraded around the school.

A soft knock on the door caught her attention, the three strike rhythm the calling card for the maidens on site. Hilda drew up a knee, watching through her lashes as she browsed the next book in line. 

“Lady Goneril, I have lunch if you would like it,” her guest offered sweetly. Today, there was no platter in hands like trips before.

The Fodlan warrior shook her head, curling her finger around a long lock of pink hair as she mustered her sweetest, fakest voice. “No thank you,” she informed curtly.

Oh yeah. In protest of Claude abandoning her, she was on a mini hunger strike too. 

A thin, but brief, frown flickered across the servant’s lips. “Of course. Please let me know if you would like something. The Queen sends her regards.”

Quietly, the lady knelt down, drawing close one of the garments that was strewn across the floor. She held it tightly in her fingers, pulling it close to her chest. “Did these not suit you?” the Almyran questioned, folding the vermilion dress into a loose square with long, fluid movements. She made no other quip, though her true thoughts were visible by the disdain in her eyes. 

Hilda paused, moving to grab her shin as she pulled tighter into herself. “They were fine. I am just… relaxing.” Sighing softly in an eagerness to draw the conversation to a close, the pale girl looked to the large bay windows that oversaw the capital city.

“There have been a lot of wyverns out there. What are they doing?” she asked a bit pointedly, digging her fingertips against the bone of her leg. Idly, she wondered how she could go about cosmetic grooming, but she wasn't about to ask this random woman what to do about unsightly hair.

The servant _uhmmmm_ ed loudly, dashing the captive's thoughts, and Hilda closed the book before her with a quick snap of the cover. “That would be a question for… Claude, it would seem.” Draping the purple cloth over her arm, she recoiled and stepped back into the large door frame. “Please call out if you change your mind. We will always find food for a guest.”

The gust left behind in her wake caused the papers to flutter, an outward groan escaping the former Garreg Mach student.

“This is what I get for giving it my all,” she cursed through ground teeth, flopping backwards into the stack of pillows. Stomach growling at the missed prospect of lunch, she dug her long nails into the shallow of her abdomen, closing her eyes.

If things didn’t change soon, she swore she was going to bail out the window. The border couldn’t be that far to hoof it.

She just needed to get her hands on a weapon.

\---

“You know, you’re going to give everyone the wrong idea dressing like that,” chided a familiar face, the man perched in the doorway with a hand upon the frame. He had turned the latch with a gentle finger, tricking her with that _knock-knock-knock_ everyone else used.

Hilda snapped to attention, sitting up from where she had been reclined and lost in a day dream. Immediately her brows furrowed together, her arms crossing just below her breasts. 

“Nice for you to finally show up,” she bit, resisting the urge to wipe sleep from her eyes and risk her rigid composure. The harsh oranges and golden tones that lit the room suggested she had passed out for some time, dipping in and out of consciousness as she tried to grapple with her ever stale situation.

He hummed, accepting the criticism as he gently shut the door. With a foot, he nudged over the stony statue that sat next to to the entry way, covering the seam with enough overlap that any visitors would have to think twice before pushing inside. It was some sort of dragon beast, and Hilda locked eyes with it’s shiny, plastic eyes. 

“I’m sorry Hild, things got a little crazy,” Claude apologized, his tone soft but metered. She could tell she was getting the gloved treatment and that only served to stir her emotions.

At least demonstrating his word, the future crown prince did look exhausted. While usually a level of neat and tidy, everything about him seemed just a hair disheveled. He wasn’t wearing the outerwear she was familiar with, instead draped in a loose shirt that crossed somewhere just before his navel. A sash crossed from shoulder to hip, offering him some coverage beyond his plain tucked pants. His wrists were cuffed with a strip of leather, probably some sort of bracer.

Quietly, she tucked her legs beneath her, a finger going to pick at a small, irritated folicle on her knee.

Feeling the tension in the room, the brown haired man took large strides, giving her space as if he expected her to turn feral any moment. Grabbing a chair that sat in the corner of the room, he flipped it with a skilled hand on a single wooden leg, moving to sit in it in reverse. A low, content sigh escaped him as he rested his chin on the back, dreamy green eyes floating shut.

They sat like that for a long moment. Claude’s hands kept moving, skirting to push back the hair around his face before combing a side burn. He touched his brows before adjusting his collar. Pinched the edge of his shirt collar, unsticking it. His fidgeting only caused her to grow more annoyed, near the point of breaking the skin on her lower lip as she pinned it between her teeth.

“... what do you say I call for dinner?” he suggested, breaching the silence with an upward tick in his voice. His thumbs stroked the length of his thigh, working at tight knots in his muscles.

_Shit._ Suddenly her elective food refusal seemed more silly when her school yard companion called her out on it. 

“I’m not taking off your shirt,” she blurted out quickly in retaliation, pushing her long lock back over her shoulder. Hilda definitely looked as if she had been rolling around it for days without any regard for her own hygiene, which quite frankly, was the point.

He laughed, rolling his head upon his shoulders so that his cheek pressed against the wooden back of the chair. “Trust me, you’re already the talk of the town. One more person seeing you won’t ruin me any further.”

Moving to prop his face up, he planted his feet firmly upon the ground. Eyes wandering, she could tell their stalemate was dissolving, a bit of light behind his expression once more. He even licked his lips this time, something he often did as he became more animated. “I see you already raided my personal library.”

“You have a lot of boring stuff,” she pointed out idly without missing a beat, reaching for one of the discarded novels. To emphasize her point, the pale girl lifted two, letting them clatter back to the bed with a _thump thump_.

“Hey now,” the Golden Deer chastised in a no-bite tone. “I have read every single one of those, you know. They have a lot of good information.” Moving to stand, he approached the bed as if a lazy cat, wandering a few steps in either direction as he sized up the collection of novels around him. Reaching, he picked up a single volume from the corner furthest from Hilda. “Trying to grasp the complexities of both Almyra and Fodlan before enrolling in a highly politicized academy isn’t exactly an easy task.”

Hilda frowned, sucking in her cheeks. While skimming the novels, she had come to a very similar conclusion. It was all highly boring to her, but from the perspective someone trying to do their best to grasp a very volatile climate of warring nations and lords, she had seen plenty of vital information. Similar things graced the shelves of the Goneril estate, digested in length by Holst. 

She had read some before, but beyond getting a pulse on the Leicester Alliance, Hilda preferred to learn by absorbing what was going on around her. Her brother was always a good resource, and for a brief moment, she worried about when they would be able to trade words again.

“Some were more interesting than others,” the girl admitted, pulling her knees close to her chest as Claude sat on the edge of the bed. She dipped towards his weight, pushing off of him with a palm against the flat of his back. Unexpectedly, he winced, and she was ready to challenge him when he waved a hand.

“I have been bounced between round tables and sword fights. Just a little bit rough on the edges right now,” the green eyed man explained, gathering up the books one by one in a stack. He shifted them onto the ground, moving them to safer territory than strewn upon the duvet. 

Hilda’s frown wasn’t quite that easy to dismiss, but feeling a little guilty around the edges that she had been quite rough with his personal library, she passed him the volumes that were littered around her. One had been firmly wedged beneath her and absorbing her pointed lack of grooming, and she passed that one with a little more humility. 

Glancing between them, she stopped as a familiar unmarked cover passed between their hands. Claude’s head cocked ever the slightest before he dipped his chin knowingly, pulling it out of her grasp. 

“You really dug deep for the good stuff, didn’t you,” he commended, tossing his messy locks about as he shuffled and moved things about to clear the space.

“Jamil,” she muttered, a finger going to her ear lobe, tracing the gold earring she wore. The stud was small but not insignificant, a flourish stamped on the edges. She had plucked it as her gift from the pile of offerings. “Is your brother, right?”

Claude hummed. Hilda could tell that she was putting her friend on the spot. While he never outright showed panic, there was a slight twitch to his eyes that he tried to smoothly transition into a thoughtful squint. She curled her toes against the bed spread, ducking her head further.

_What an idiot_ , she cursed unhappily of the boy. The Goneril didn’t exactly mean it, but she didn’t know how else to express the frustration boiling inside of her.

“... on the nose, dear friend,” he congratulated in a lazy drawl, having paused his almost mechanical rearranging, thumb caught on the spine of an atlas. “Half brother, actually. Lineages in Almyra are just as messy as they are elsewhere.”

The pink haired maiden wanted to push further, but with her knowledge of the man, she could tell the walls were quickly going up. He was planning his retreat by the way his breathing swallowed, the curve vanishing from his spine. In less of a minute he’d be out the door, pretending as if this whole visit had been an elaborate trick.

Looking away, Hilda bit the sides of her mouth. She had more questions to be pulled from the pages of that novel, Almyra’s royal lineage penned out in a rather detailed manuscript inside. She had assumed it was a copy of whatever register they used to track blood lines in the kingdom; his reaction only validated her intuition. The more curious part was she never found his name, Claude's position on the tree only implied by the way he was named heir. 

Out the window, wyverns continued to cut the sky despite the setting sun, their black shapes darting back and forth between the clouds. Touching her sternum, she twisted to look over her shoulder.

“Where are you all going?” she asked a bit coldly, changing the subject. While she liked to be lazy and take things in from the sidelines, she wasn’t dumb. The crest bearer had spent enough time around war ready men, and the writing was on the wall, even if she was locked in the tower with a perpendicular view. 

“That,” Claude croaked, planting a palm on the bed and leaning into it. His shirt draped open from the incline, but she held her gaze firm. “Is another thing entirely.”

Moving to his feet, he approached the window pane in two long strides. Tapping on the glass with his pointer finger, he traced the trajectory of a beast in the sky as it darted from east to west against the amber sky. Thinking twice about having his back to her, he rotated where he stood. “Don’t come at me. A small battalion is setting out for Fodlan’s Throat tomorrow, and not by my idea.”

A small growl escaped her, low for her usual range. While she was not very intimidating in the equivalent of pajamas, the Almyran raised a hand, willing a small truce between them.

“Is that why you locked me up here?” Hilda challenged, swinging her feet out to sit on the edge of the bed. Her heels bounced on the floor as she tried to determine her next action. She did not advance any further, but instead she folded her arms across her chest once more, gripping at her elbows.

In the back of her mind, the Goneril had concluded that was the answer, but hadn't wanted to consider it. While she knew Claude straddled the Alliance and Almyra, the Alliance was now dissolved and part of the Adrestrian Empire. They weren’t exactly the closest of allies, and there was only one way through the mountain range. Funneled through the Locket. 

Still not confident she wasn’t going to tackle him, he maintained his distance as he fixed his tunic. “That is not correct,” he informed carefully, plucking at the knot that held his sash. “We are not trying to give the Empire any ammo to fight back. Your secret is safe until you decide you want to tell people, Hilda.”

Running the rough cloth between his fingers, he continued to fidget as he held her sharp pink gaze. “Everything about this was premeditated under my nose. While I might have led the Alliance, my father still calls the shots here.” Claude shook his head the slightest, a breath escaping over his lips. “Believe it or not, the people here aren’t big on outsiders. A Fodlan queen for over a decade, and yet they can’t behave when faced with someone new.”

Sliding the sash to his left hand, he extended his right out to Hilda, holding it out in the air with a faint aura of an apology. “I had wanted to take you around myself to make sure you got the best first impression, but I can see now that I mucked that up.”

She arched a messily manicured brow, snapping her gaze between his hand and his face. He had that slightly smug expression again - and damn him - Hilda sighed loudly as he plastered on the wink. She needed to stop watching the face.

“You made me feel like a criminal!” she chastised, reaching out to grab him by the wrist, deciding not to let him control the narrative. With a solid tug and the flex of her strong shoulder muscles, the axe wielder deposited him next to her on the bed. Rocking backwards, Claude caught himself on his elbows, laying partially across her lap.

He clicked his tongue. “To be fair, you are technically exiled.”

Not holding back the punch, she landed her knuckles squarely against the shallow of his collar bone, letting her pent frustrations channel through the action.

“Ack!” he wheezed, clamping a hand over hers. “H-Hey now, just telling you the truth. My mother sent you clothes, and I made sure you had food. It was _you_ who decided to stage a sit in.” The Riegan dragged his thumb over the back of her wrist. The motion made her release, huffing as she tossed long locks back over her shoulder.

“Everyone is so weird to me here,” she muttered, shaking her hand loose before raking her fingernails against her scalp. “And nobody would tell me where the hell you were.”

Massaging his abused skin, a small smile played across his lips. It was funny how she reminded him so much of a specific someone within the palace walls. Though, her lazy-stubborn-determined nature was unique. “Hild, I’ll make it up to you. I cleared my schedule; after Nader’s convoy sets out, I am free for the whole day. We’ll make an event of it.”

The warrior blew out a breath, grabbing his jaw gently between two fingers and giving a small shake. “Are you calling it a date?” she teased, a brightness back in her previously fierce eyes. 

“Dear lady who warms my bed, my mother has already decided we’ve wed,” he snorted with a sharp sing song exhale, rolling away from her touch and off the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally intended to be a trio, but my Hilda muse got a little attitude, and I wanted to run with the new Dream interview reveals. Chapter 4 will be the final installment. Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my self indulgent head canon for Crimson Flower. I disliked Claude vanishing off into the sunset with a smile and wanted something that felt a bit more natural. Thanks for letting me share.


End file.
